


Crystal and Clover

by tweed_princess



Series: Here for the Chase [2]
Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Cunnilingus, F/M, Fluff, Smut
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-09-06
Updated: 2016-09-05
Packaged: 2018-08-13 06:36:55
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 3,708
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7966342
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/tweed_princess/pseuds/tweed_princess
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A smutty companion piece to Here for the Chase. Picks up directly after chapter seven ends. Possibly more updates coming, whenever the mood strikes and without warning.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. what would you do if i stole you tonight?

**Author's Note:**

> So, as promised, here it is: the stuff. The sex. As stated before, it picks up right where chapter seven leaves off. I suppose you do not need to know anything about Here for the Chase, but reading it beforehand might give some context to things?  
> Title is from "I Belong in Your Arms" by the band Chairlift.  
> You can find me at disorganizedomesticgoddess.tumblr.com. Feel free to follow me, send me prompts, or just tell me about your day.

The whole apartment is almost unbearably quiet now, save for their labored breathing. Her hands move to the hem of his shirt, sliding under to touch his hot flesh, and then up, and up. He pulls away from her as she begins to remove his shirt, lifting his arms to help. She drops it to the floor. “Oh. I see.” She flushes pink. He closes the space between them, kissing her again and pulling her flush against him. She can feel how hard he is, and she presses her hips into his, making him groan.

“Bedroom,” she says, pressing again. He releases her mouth and drops his head to her collarbone.

“Are you sure?” He lays a hot, open mouthed kiss on the flesh that is accessible to him.

“Yes,” she hisses. “Please.” She’ll beg if she has to. She can barely believe it, but he lifts her up, high enough that she may wrap her legs around his waist. His cock is _right there,_ straining through his jeans and pressing against the fabric of her tights and her underwear. Whether this is intentional on his part or not, she’s not sure, but it feels amazing anyway.

He stumbles into the bedroom, seemingly effortless if not for his arm muscles twitching under her weight. He places her on the edge of the bed.

“You’re wearing tights. I can try and take them off, but you’re going to laugh at me.”

She laughs anyway, breathlessly. She reaches down, slipping her hands up into her dress and hooking her fingers into the waist of the tights. She pulls them down, deliberately slow, and can’t help but notice him staring at her legs as she slides them down.

When they reach her ankles, he grabs them, removing them from her and throwing them across the room. She removes the dress and tosses it to join them, and he steps back and stares at her, in nothing but her bra and underwear and that gold necklace.

Her skin feels hot under his gaze. He was the second man to see her like this, but the first to look at her this way. She removes her necklace, setting it neatly on the nightstand.

“Jesus fucking Christ,” she hears him say, and she sits up on her knees and pinches the leg of his pants, pulling him to her, almost roughly. The force of it causes them both to fall back onto the bed; she has to act quickly and shift her legs out from underneath her. She’s in a fit of giggles underneath him.

“Are you okay?” he asks, trying very hard to contain the laughter in his own voice, but ultimately failing.

“Yes.” She bites her lip. “More than okay.”

He captures her lips with his own then, slipping his arms underneath her. She thinks he means to remove her bra, but his fingers are still against her back. He pulls her tighter to her chest and sighs. She moves to let her thighs encompass his hips, something he doesn’t fail to notice, judging by the noise he makes deep in his throat.

“I want to make you feel good. Do you trust me?” It seems like such an obvious statement and a question with an even more obvious answer, judging by the way she’s wrapped around him, but she is touched anyway. No one has taken such care with her body and her heart before. She nods.

He kisses her again, and then moves his lips to her jaw. His fingers are finally working the clasp of her bra. It takes a few fumbling moments for him to get it right, but he does, and it’s almost immediately after the air hits her breasts that his mouth is closing over her nipple. His fingers are working at the other nipple, and then suddenly, it’s travelling down the valley of her breasts, down her stomach, and into her underwear.

He gives her one long, slow stroke with the tip of his index finger. She’s been expecting it, and yet it’s so shocking that her eyes fly open. She lets out a moan, louder and more embarrassing than she had hoped. This only seems to spur him on. “Jesus, you’re wet.” He dips his finger into the wetness that has collected around her entrance and then draws it back up, this time to circle around her clit. She’s moaning and panting against him now. He pulls away from her breast, grin almost devious, and presses a kiss between her breasts, following the same pattern that his hand did just minutes before.

When he gets to the black lace of her underwear, he hooks his fingers in the waistband and tugs them down her legs. He lets out an appreciative groan at the sight before him, and then immediately slides off the bed, dropping to his knees like a subject before a queen and pulling her calves over his shoulders. He presses his face flush against her cunt, and she squeaks at the first touch of his tongue, her hands clutching his hair and her thighs gleefully closing around his head.

He’s almost greedy with her, the way his tongue laves against her. He slips one, two fingers into her, pumping them and crooking them in a way that makes her body undulate on the mattress and her eyes almost roll into the back of her head.

She chances a glance down at him, propping herself up on her elbows. The image that greets her is absolutely obscene: dark curls wild in her hands and against her white thighs, eyes blissfully closed, mouth clamped down on her cunt. There is a fluttering in her belly that has been building for a few minutes now, now so intense that she practically wails, sinking back down into the bed. He must take this to mean that she’s close, as he purses his lips and sucks on her clit and she practically explodes. His hands steady her as her hips buck against his face, fingers flexing and unflexing against the sheets. He does not relent until she’s begging him to let off, that it’s too much. He presses gentle kisses to her each of her thighs before crawling back up her body, his mouth, still slick from _her_ , pulled into a grin.

She’s so overcome with affection, so appreciative of what he’s just given her that she pulls him into a kiss. He draws his arms around her once again, his cock hard and insistent against her lower belly.

She can taste herself on him, and the idea is so thrilling that she slips her own tongue into his mouth. He makes an appreciative sound in his throat, which only serves to embolden her; she breaks the kiss and pushes him over onto his back, her hips straddling his. She rolls his hips over his, and his hands fall to her hipbones immediately, guiding her. She entertains this for a few moments, but it’s not enough. She needs to feel him, skin to skin, not just through his jeans.

She gives him a shy, lip-biting smile as she moves her hand to the buckle of his jeans. He tries to give her a small smile back. His gray eyes grow even darker as he watches her.

The belt buckle becomes loose and she unbuttons and unzips his jeans. His cock springs free, only restricted by his boxers, now. She fights the urge to reach inside to touch it. “Do you have condoms?”

He tilts his chin towards the bedside table and she leans over to pull the drawer open. As she’s fumbling for a condom, his hands slide up her sides until they rest of her breasts. Rough thumbs tweak at her nipples. Despite the distraction, she manages to grasp one between two fingers. She holds it in front of her face, studying the package.

“’576 Sensations. 576 pleasure studs for maximum pleasure.” She raises an eyebrow and he shrugs.

“Luck of the draw. It came in a variety pack. I think there’s a glow in the dark one if you’d rather-“

She cuts him off. “No time.” She lifts herself off his hips, yanking his jeans, belt, and boxers down and off his body in one fell swoop.

As his cock is revealed to her, she cannot help but stare a little. He’s bigger than Joffrey (who wasn’t necessarily small) but he’s not _too_ big. He’s also so hard that his cock is tipping towards his stomach. She reaches one tentative hand out and strokes him, reveling in the warmth, the hardness, the velvet feeling of his skin.

“If you keep doing that, that condom’s going to be useless and we’re both going to be very sad.” She nods, grabbing the condom and opening it and sliding it down on him. She makes a mental note to explore him more later.

She re-straddles his hips, her entrance now mere centimeters away from the tip of his cock. Unable to stand it anymore, she sinks down on him. He groans; she moans.

The studs on the condom are a little unnecessary, but they feel nice enough. She begins rocking her hips, setting a pace. Soon enough, his hands are desperately roaming her body, never in one place for too long: stroking at her breasts, thumbing her nipples, grasping at her ass, gripping at her hips.

The rocking gives way to riding, and they’re both panting. He begins to roll his hips under hers, going up as she goes down. He’s impossibly deep within her as his thumb makes to rub circles against her clit.

“Are you close?” he rasps out. He’s a vision on the pillow with his halo of black curls, pupils blown wide.

“Y-yes.”

His hips stutter underneath hers as she begins to tremble and shake. Her head drops back and she wails as she finds her release, hands finding purchase on the muscles of his abdomen. Her inner walls are still fluttering around him as he follows her soon after, grasping her hips and slamming up into her with a groan.

Breathless and sweating, she collapses forward onto his chest. He chuckles and wraps his arms around her, kissing the top of her head.

“All that build up… it was worth it,” he says.

“You’ve killed me,” she says into his chest. She props herself up on her elbows, blissful smile playing across her face, and kisses him languorously; he cradles her face in his hands to pull her face closer and deepen the kiss considerably. She gives him a pleased hum as he pulls away, resting her chin on his chest. “I’m so happy,” she tells him. “This is like… _peak_ happiness.” It’s the truth. He beams at her.

“Making you happy makes me _very_ happy. But… let’s see if I can make you happier,” he says as he rolls her over onto her back.


	2. because the world goes on without us

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The next morning

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The beginning and end of this chapter are part of the next chapter of Here for the Chase, not even fully written or published yet. Chapter eight of Here for the Chase will continue this chapter, which is why the ending may seem a little abrupt.

Sansa wakes up at almost 11 the next morning, naked and nuzzled into an unfamiliar pillow, a pleasant weight covering the right side of her body. She turns her head and is greeted by a mess of wild black curls. She takes a ringlet and tugs gently, releasing it and watching it bounce back into a perfect spiral. The back of her hand brushes up against the side of Jon’s face.

Jon’s dark grey eyes pop open, almost as if he was simply pretending to sleep.

“Good morning,” he says softly, brushing a strand of red hair behind her ear. She’s sure her hair is wild and knotted, mussed from tossing her head on the pillow and his apparent need to lace his fingers in it.

“Good morning,” she responds, reaching out her hand to hold his on the pillow between them. She kisses his knuckles, one at a time, and he smiles at her, brushing the side of his thumb against her lips gently.

“Are you hungry?”

“No,” Sansa lies, sitting up and straddling his hips. She doesn’t want to get up just yet; already her mind is focused on one very precise thing. He places his hands on her hips and sits up so that she is settled in his lap, dipping his head to place open-mouthed kisses on her right collarbone. She’s pleased to find that he’s hard against her abdomen already. Memories of the previous night echo through her brain, causing her lower belly to burn and reminding her of why they were getting up so late in the first place.

Her stomach growls loudly, betraying her.

“That sounds like hunger to me,” he says against the base of her throat. She sighs and tilts her head back, and he moves his lips towards her left collarbone.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“Breakfast is the most important meal of the day.” He takes her breasts into his hands, thumbs tracing their undersides and then stroking over hardening nipples. She sighs again, leaning into his touch. “You need your energy.”

“Mmm? What for?”

He doesn’t respond with words, just leans up to capture her lips with his. After a few minutes of kissing (slow and lovely and _hot_ , even though she’s sure her morning breath is atrocious), he slips out from underneath her, leaving the bed and her and slipping on a pair of boxers. “Stay here.”

“Tease,” she calls after him, but he just laughs, clearly on a mission.  

In his absence, she takes the time to glance at her phone. Jon’s is fully charged next to hers, and hers is close to dying, so she unplugs his and plugs hers in. There is a text from Margaery that just says “So how’s the family stuff?” with a very skeptical looking emoji.

“Oh, trust me, I’ll text you later,” Sansa texts back.

Jon’s practically giddy when he returns with a breakfast tray made for breakfast in bed. On it is two bananas and two everything bagels, split and toasted, with cream cheese on the side. He’s made a French press of coffee, accompanied by two hefty vintage stoneware mugs and a pitcher of half and half. He looks so sweet and happy standing there that her heart does little flip flops in her chest.

“I didn’t think about breakfast. I would have gotten you almond croissants from the bakery down the road…”

“You could serve me a single piece of unbuttered toast and I’d still be charmed,” she admits. It’s the honest truth.

“At least the bagels are from a bakery.” He sets the tray onto the bed and then crawls in under the covers, careful not to jostle it or knock it over. He pours them coffee (and puts extra cream in hers, which is something that she is always so touched by when she realizes that he remembers). She starts schmearing cream cheese on her bagel and then hands the knife to him. She’s amused to find that he uses an obscene amount of cream cheese, just like her little brother Rickon.

They eat quickly, and Jon takes the tray away, setting it on his dresser and turning back towards the bed. “Energized?”

“Absolutely,” Sansa says, admittedly feeling a little better with some food and caffeine in her.

He slides onto the bed and under the sheet with her. His fingers gently stroke her sides as he kisses her, and she arches her back towards him, wanting to feel closer.

His lips form a smirk against hers. “And now, for dessert.” His head disappears under the covers and she laughs.

“You did not just say that!” He pops his head out from under the covers, grinning.

“I did.” He pulls the sheet back over his head. She cannot see him, but she feels his lips brushing against her stomach, which is heaving from laughter. That laughter quickly gives way to moans as he sets his mouth to her center for the third time. Her thighs fall apart and she slips her fingers into his curls. Joffrey had only done this to her once, on her birthday. He had complained that it was taking too long for her to come, and that it was a waste of time. It’d ended in a mostly one-sided argument. He didn’t even let her finish. She was too embarrassed to ask for it again, figuring something was horribly wrong with her.

As Jon diligently works her into a thrashing mess with his very talented tongue and fingers, she thinks that maybe it’s just a difference in technique: Jon actually has one. Curiosity burns her, so she pulls the covers over her head. His eyes open and lock with hers. It’s this, along with his encouraging and filthy words muttered against her flesh, that undoes her in the end. She lets out a keening wail and bucks her hips but his mouth stays on her, fingers leaving from inside her to grip her hips and hold her steady. When her hips return to the surface of the mattress, he releases her, kissing the slight indents his thumbs have left on the skin over her hipbones. He crawls up her body and lays beside her, wrapping his arms around her torso and nuzzling the side of her right breast as she catches her breath.

“That was… that was good,” she says, panting.

“Mm.” He gives her an almost chaste kiss on her nipple. “I’m glad you enjoyed it. I enjoy doing it. Something we can bond over.”

He shifts, pulling himself up and kissing her on the shell of her ear. It makes her shiver. “God. I like you a lot,” he murmurs. He’s said it a lot since this whole thing started, but it never fails to make her beam.

“I like you a lot, too.” She turns onto her side to grab the box of condoms sitting on the night stand. As she does so, she can’t help but notice that he’s hard against her backside. She wiggles her hips a little, and he groans.

She has a brilliant idea. She’s seen this position in ‘female-friendly’ pornography before, but she’s never gotten the opportunity to try it out. She hands him a condom over her shoulder. She hears him dutifully open the package and put the condom on. “Just go with it.”

“I’d like to, if you could just tell me what you want me to do.” He’s worked his hand to her front now, and is teasing her left nipple with her thumb. She hooks her arm under her thigh, spreading herself open to him. “…Oh.”

It’s awkward at first, finding the right way to position himself. He finds where he’s supposed to be soon enough and enters her, and she releases her leg to rest her foot on his thigh.

The position doesn’t allow him to get as deep as he would normally be, but there are benefits. His hand is free to roam the front of her body, which he takes full advantage of. He kisses her neck, nipping at her with his teeth as his hand travels down her body, stopping to tease her nipples before going lower, lower…

He’s rubbing her clit with two fingers, and it feels so good that she makes a choking noise.  

“You ok?” he grunts in her ear.

“Oh god. Yes, Jon… please…” She’s never been particularly vocal in bed, usually only to boost Joffrey’s ego, but now…

“Please what?” She makes a noise that she can’t quite describe. He doesn’t wait for her to answer. “Jesus fucking Christ, you feel amazing… am I going to make you come again?”

His words send a thrill through her body. She groans and her cheeks burn. He seems to notice this. He goes on.

“I love the way you come. I love how you sound, how you look, how you taste… I can even feel it. I love the way you feel coming around me. Are you going to give that to me, Sansa?”

There’s no way that she won’t, at this point. She feels shameless and wanton as she writhes against him. He continues thrusting into her, slow, hot and steady. “Yes,” she whimpers. “Fuck me.”

This emboldens him. He finds the wherewithal to increase the speed of his hips and his hand, burying his face in her neck. Her legs are quivering. It’s almost too much.

“Come for me,” he rasps into her ear. She does. The pressure that’s been building up within her bursts and her mind goes blank, leaving her a keening, panting mess. He works her through it, even as he comes himself (“Fuck!”), slowing his thrusts and his hand as she comes down.

She’s speechless, unable to do much else besides try to catch her breath as he pants against the back of her neck. When she finally musters up the energy, she turns to face him and he wraps his arms around her, pressing a kiss to the top of her head.

It’s a good feeling, being warm and safe and falling in love.

That’s what she’s doing, she realizes. He’s only been in her life a little more than a month and she’s already falling in love. For the first time, it’s on her terms.

She doesn’t voice how she feels. She cannot. The moment is too perfect.

“I need a shower,” he says. “I must stink.”

“I like your stink,” she murmurs, burrowing deeper into his chest, inhaling deeply.

“Somebody’s gotta. Can you stand? Can _I_ stand?”

She peers up at him, eyes wide. “Are we going to have shower sex?”

He chuckles and kisses her forehead. “I’m flattered, but you severely overestimate my stamina. Are you trying to kill me?”

She grins. “No…”

“That’s not very convincing.”

They do _not_ have shower sex, deciding that, in their weakened states, mixing thrusting and limbs and water could mean certain death, or at least a trip to the emergency room. It’s nice and intimate anyway, with Sansa washing Jon’s curls and feeling his fingers work shampoo into her hair scalp in turn. When all of the soap is washed away, they are silent as they hold each other, the water beating down on them slowly cooling in temperature until it is too cold for either of them to stand.


End file.
